


And They Love It

by Parksborn



Series: The Life and Times of Peter Parker and Matt Murdock [1]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:03:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parksborn/pseuds/Parksborn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter stands there for a bit, shifting from foot to foot as he watches Matt struggle with what looks like a headache from hell—that’s his headache face, eyebrows pulled down, face slightly scrunched, lips pressed together tightly—and, after what feels like a blood-scented forever, Matt mutters, “My nose is broken.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	And They Love It

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are courtesy of yours truly. This may not be any good. This piece was also posted on my tumblr, so please don't attack me for plagiarizing my own work.
> 
> Enjoy!

Lately, Peter’s been getting home from patrol before Matt, and he thinks maybe it’s Matt staying out later, or him heading home earlier, or that he’s getting more tired more quickly, or that he’s simply too anxious to see Matt again, and—maybe it’s all of those reasons, but it doesn’t stop Peter from jumping when he hears Matt stumble into their apartment. It’s an actual stumble, uncoordinated and loud, and that’s the first sign that he’s hurt and it’s exactly what gets Peter on his feet and headed into their bedroom. The next is the loud crash and soft, “Dammit,” that comes before Peter’s had the chance to get to Matt. When he does, it’s easy to tell that Matt’s taken quite the beating tonight, and Peter’s there to catch Matt under the arm before he falls, and pushes him onto the bed, looking him over.

He’s bloodied—and Peter’s sure that it has to be a combination of Matt’s own blood and somebody else’s—and has a hand over his ribs, favoring his left side and struggles to breathe, not only because of the obvious pain of his ribs, but because it looks like the majority of Matt’s blood is coming from his broken, bloody nose. Peter makes a soft, unhappy sound, hands already gently prying off Matt’s cowl, despite Matt’s protests—“Peter, stop.”—and then his hands wander to the hem of the top of Matt’s suit—“Peter, careful. /Careful./”

Peter mumbles an apology and, with stiff, pained cooperation from Matt, finally gets the leathery top off, and he carelessly throws it to the side, eyes scanning over Matt’s chest, mottled and bruised, splotches of black and purple, darkness welling up from somewhere deep inside. It’s hard not to ache for Matt, so Peter does anyways. “Who—?” Peter starts, but Matt waves a disgruntled hand at him.

“Shut up.” 

Peter tries hard to be miffed, but fails, because the pain displayed on Matt’s features makes him want to heal and cradle and magic it away. But he can’t, so he doesn’t, and waits for instruction from Matt. Peter stands there for a bit, shifting from foot to foot as he watches Matt struggle with what looks like a headache from hell—that’s his headache face, eyebrows pulled down, face slightly scrunched, lips pressed together tightly—and, after what feels like a blood-scented forever, Matt mutters, “My nose is broken.”

“Hadn’t noticed,” Peter says, stepping forward and lying both of his hands on either side of Matt’s face, thumbs feeling the bridge of Matt’s nose before padding quickly out of their room and into the bathroom, grabbing a towel and a large rag. “How long ago?” he asks, and Matt responds,

“Ten minutes.” Peter nods and gives the large rag to Matt, and lays the towel on his lap. 

“You know what to do,” Peter mumbles, and frowns as Matt attempts to blow as much blood out of his nose before they set it, and how quickly he can see the red liquid stain and spread like uneven dye. Matt also wipes up the rest of his face, and then Peter’s hands are on his face again, and this time the movements he makes are much quicker, and much more painful for Matt than before. Matt grunts and Peter almost mirrors the sound as he hears the bones pop back into place, and more blood dribbles out, snaking down Matt’s face and Peter’s wrist.

“Gross,” Peter says, letting his hands off Matt’s face and allowing the redhead to do the rest. There’s still blood on his hands and fingers, but he doesn’t /really/ care, and he stands still as Matt slips a finger up each nostril aligning his nose from the inside, like every time, and they’ve practically mastered this procedure by now. There’s more blood that drips onto the towel on Matt’s lap, and Peter figures it’s time for tissues and painkillers. He comes back and Matt is blowing more blood out of his nose into the large towel that’s already been stained. Peter sits the tissues and meds on the nightstand and bats Matt’s hand away from his face to check and see if they need to do any last-minute alignments, and they don’t. “Good as new,” Peter says, before telling him to tilt his head back, and helps him pack his nose with tissues to finish up the setting and catch the rest of the blood before grabbing the towel off of Matt’s lap and wiping his hands off on a clean corner.

He shakes out a good amount of painkillers for Matt—the sound makes Matt wince—and gives them to the redhead, asking, “Ice?”

“Yeah.” Peter wants to make a quip and please’s and thank you’s, but decides against it, if for no other reason than Matt’s in pain and he’d appreciate the quiet. The brunet leaves their bedroom for an icepack, and comes back with two—one for Matt’s nose, one for his bruised ribs. Matt shivers as the cold packs are placed on his injuries, and Peter frowns in sympathy. 

He places a hand on Matt’s cheek—it still has blood on it, but it’s dried and it’s Matt’s blood, so he thinks Matt can just /deal/—and placed a gentle kiss onto the redhead’s lips. Matt’s eyes flutter shut and he makes a soft, tired sound, and Peter’s more than glad that the walls they once fought are down, because this is the Matt that makes him melt, despite all of the blood and bruises and pain. “Better?” he asks, and Matt needlessly cracks his eyes open—and Peter almost cracks a grin for that, he loves Matt’s milky blue eyes, despite popular opinion and the occasional, seeming deep-soul exploring that sends cold and creepy discomfort through him.

This time they’re soft and sleepy, and Peter /does/ smile.

“A little,” Matt concedes, and his voice is just as tired as his eyes and Peter wants to welcome him to bed, but his nose has yet to stop bleeding, and he knows it’s a bad idea to lie down with a nosebleed of any kind. He decides that if it’s not completely done bleeding once they’ve cleaned up, that they can hazard it just this once, because he’s just as exhausted as Matt is. 

By the time Matt’s out of his suit and everything is cleaned up and tossed out—the towel and rag are stained beyond salvage—they both crawl into bed. Matt almost immediately pulls Peter towards him, back to chest, and Peter wants to say something about the bruising, and Matt seems to know he does, because there’s a quiet, “It’s fine,” and a kiss pressed to his shoulder. 

“You sure?” And Matt grunts softly, pressing a kiss to Peter’s mop of brown locks in response.

“Go to sleep,” he mutters, and Peter does, and they do, and things are quiet in the morning, and they love it.


End file.
